John Wick: Arkham Asylum
by DeadAliveManiac
Summary: The Dark Knight has fallen. Joker has threatened to kill hostages, including the Batman, should anyone be caught on Arkham Island. But Black Skull recruits John Wick to take him out so that he can keep the streets of Gotham City under his control. The exchange: complete immunity from the criminal world. No matter the body count, the clown prince of crime must die.
1. An Offer You Can't Refuse

The slow, heavy thuds of footsteps echoed through his throbbing, dazed head. His breathing was labored, his mouth full of blood, and mask crumpled in, the left ear snapped off. The dark knight tried to push himself up, the pain of his broken ribs followed by the crash of a massive fist over the back of his skull, driving his face into the cement and shattering it like glass with a web-like pattern. Batman lie motionless, blood pooling around his battered skull. "I do not understand you, _Murciélago_," Bane began, pacing around the bat, "I have broken you, I could feel your spine shatter on my knee, and yet here you still are all these years later. I can't help but commend your efforts. You fight like a matador, with grace and precision, but the bull will eventually gore even the most skilled matador. It was only a matter of time, Batman. I won't make the same mistake of letting you walk away."

Bane thumped across the room, Batman's fingers flexing into the concrete as the dark knight ushered the last of his strength to roll onto his back, his right eye swollen shut, blood seeping from his nostrils, and teeth stained crimson. An thunderous crash caught Batman's attention as Bane ripped a boulder of concrete and rebar from the wall, stomping back to Batman with the rubble high overhead. "I'll see you in Hell, Batman." Bane said, readying to finish Batman as he braced himself for death.

"STOP!" a raspy voice screeched, much to Batman's relief and chagrin.

Bane turned to the voice, finding the clown prince of crime pointing an oversized revolver at him from the level above him. "What are you doing, _payaso?_" Bane asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, you were supposed to rough the bat up, not break his wings! What is wrong with you?!" Joker demanded.

"_Cu__á__l es t__ú__ problema_?! Joker, I will tear you limb from limb after I crush the bat!"

"No, you won't, Bane. I run this dump, not you, and all my guys seem to agree. You know, all those guys who helped you beat Batman? Now put the rock down and don't you even think about killing Batman, we need him alive now that you've ruined everything!"

Bane growled in anger before snickering, "Fine, you win, _payaso_."

Bane slammed the boulder down with all his might on Batman's outstretched arm, crushing it and pinning the writhing dark knight in place. "Ah, damn you, Bane! Get that thing off him, we can't just leave him here like a stranded hiker! Please tell me there's a doctor somewhere on this island." Joker ordered, hanging his head and muttering.

Bane merely rolled the rock off of Batman's arm, peeling him from the ground and throwing the battered hero over his shoulder, his shattered arm waving like a cape over Bane's back.

* * *

_We interrupt this broadcast for a breaking announcement. Gotham City's finest, Vicki Vale, is outside the gates of Arkham Asylum._

A blonde woman in a black dress coat stands before the infamous gates of Arkham Asylum, speaking into her mic, "Thanks, Dom. Reports of a riot overtaking Arkham Asylum are confirmed to be true. It is assumed that many, if not all officers inside have been taken hostage, if they're even alive. We'll keep you posted on this as updates are available."

As soon as she finished her sentence, the squeal of a megaphone made all cover their ears, the camera swinging around wildly to find the source. Soon, Vicki cried, "Look, on the watch tower!" The camera trained on a tall, metal tower with a spotlight atop it, the Joker wielding his megaphone with oversized teeth and tongue protruding from with as if it was a wide, unnerving, cackling smile. "Ladies and gentlemen," the Joker belted out, "we residents here at Arkham Asylum just want you to see what it's like to live in a madhouse. The food's crap, the inmates are insane, and the staff barbaric. But, hey, family's tend to fight but we have hospitality of the finest degree for our guests. Ain't that right, Bats?"

Bane stepped beside Joker, producing Batman before him by his cape, revealing his mangled body to the viewing world. "So, listen up, Gotham! Your caped crusader is ours! We've got Arkham under control and locked down in case of anyone getting any funny ideas, which is my job, by the way. I digress, we have no demands, we don't negotiate with the likes of you, and you couldn't possibly meet our demands when they don't exist. Anyone who attempts to breech the fence and we start killing officers. Anyone gets in and we kill the bat! So, good night, and rest easy knowing we have finally rid Gotham City of the bat menace!"

Joker lowered his mic and turned on his heel, Bane dragging Batman behind him as he followed suit. "You heard it here first, folks," Vicki began, the camera swinging down to record her, "Batman has been taken hostage by the Joker, along with an unconfirmed number of officers and prison staff, in Arkham Asylum..."

As Vicki tried to continue, a white-haired and mustached man interrupted her speech, covering her mic with his hand but his muffled voice being picked up, "I'm sorry, Vicki, but we have to leave, now. We've got too many good men inside there and we can't let them be put at risk."

Vicki swatted Gordon's hand away, erupting, "How dare you, James! The people have the right to this coverage and it's my job to give it to them."

"Not when lives are at stake because of it," Gordon began, turning to the camera and yelling to the crew, "That's it everyone, pack it in, we've got bigger things here than ratings."

Gordon forced his hand over the camera lens and the feed went dead, Vicki shouting, "Dammit, Gordon, the people deserve to see what the hell is going on here?! You can't do this!"

"I can and I am. This is the site of a police investigation, consider yourself trespassing as of now. You and your crew have 5 minutes to pack your things and get out of here. We won't be far behind."

Vicki scoffed at Gordon, she and her cameraman heading for their news van. James sighed and turned back to the asylum, the crescent moon illuminating the massive, horrific prison. "Well, what are we gonna do now?" Gordon pondered aloud.

* * *

A luxurious house's front door creaked open, a black-haired, bearded, rain-soaked man in a black suit entered his home and set a pistol on a table, tossing his keys beside it. A growing, gray pitbull puppy scuttled towards him with excitement, the man dropping to a knee and jostling it chin with his hands. "Hey, boy, did ya miss me?"

The man made his way up the stairs, the puppy closely following behind, bounding up after his master. The man reached his room, reluctantly walking past his bed as he slipped his suit jacket off before loosing his tie. He reached his bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks and forehead were covered in cuts, blood caking his dress shirt to his stitched abdomen. The man carefully peeled his shirt from his body and inspected the wound. He had done a fairly decent job with his stitching, dabbing his finger on the coagulated blood to see if any of it still flowed. With a few splashes of cold water, he cleaned any of the blood on his face and dabbing a wet rag against his stomach. Finally cleaned up and too exhausted to care for himself further, he collapsed into bed, his dog hopping up beside him and curling against his side. "Good boy."

* * *

Light billowed into the home, birds singing their songs and the day beginning anew. The man was awoken to his dog affectionately licking his cheek, his hair a jumbled mess as he propped himself up to stare at his dog. "Well, boy, here's the the first day of our freedom."

In the kitchen, the man, having changed into jeans and long-sleeved white shirt, the sleeves hiked up to his elbows, prepared himself a hot cup of coffee. The dog across the room devoured it bowl of kibble, dropping much of its mouthfuls onto the ground before lapping them up. Just as he began his first sip, his doorbell rang. The man lowered his coffee apprehensively, the bell ringing again and forcing him to place it on the counter as he headed to the door. The silhouettes of several men near his door and one man at it heightened his suspicion. The bell rang a final time as he reached for the handle, opening it tentatively to find a man in a white suit and black skull mask before him. "Morning, John."

Without hesitation, John drew his pistol from the table and put it to the man's forehead, his eyes widening with surprise and his henchmen taking aim at John with their own sidearms. "Whoa," the masked man reassured, raising his hands to his shoulders and keeping his calm, "take it easy, John. I'm just here to talk."

"Do I know you?" John asked.

"Oh, come on, Johnny, who doesn't know who you are? Baba Yaga? Ring a bell? The question is, have you heard of me?" the man gushed, putting his hands to his chest.

"Well, I assume you're the Black Mask. Kind of hard for a man always wearing a mask to go unnoticed in our line of work."

"So there we are, we're acquainted. Put 'er there, Johnboy." Black Mask offered his hand.

John merely lowered his weapon, refusing his hand, and asked, "What brings you to my home?"

"That's the conversation I was hoping to have. I hope my entourage doesn't intimidate you into letting me inside, I'll only be a few minutes."

John stared the man down for several moments before stepping aside and presented him an entrance with an extension of his arm. Black Mask look backed to his men and nodded, all of them lowering their weapons as he walked inside, John closing the door behind them. They had barely made it far into the home before John's dog began to growl and bare his teeth at Black Mask. John shouted, "Hey," the dog's jowls dropped over its teeth and growling ceased before John ordered, "Sit."

The dog followed his order, panting happily as Black Mask complimented, "Ah, I love well-trained dog, especially pitbulls. Terrible what bad rap they get, ay, John? Kinda like us, they're just creatures of their circumstances."

John ignored him and led him to the dining room, going around the table and taking his seat before Black Mask seated himself opposite him. The two stared at each other for a time before Black Mask said, "So, John, I'm glad to have your hospitality. I have to say, I'm a huge fan of yours. John Wick. The Baba Yaga, the man who did the impossible two times over: build the Tarasov empire and get out of this life. Until you went back. Now everyone's watching, John. Favors, grudges, and scores to settle, you name it, they can all come right to your door. Hell, I don't even know you John, and it only took me a few hours to find where you live and few more to get to you. That scare ya?"

John only continued to stare Black Mask in the eyes. "Oh, you're good. I haven't felt chills like this since the last time the bat got me. But, I get ahead of myself, I'm sorry to hear the news about your wife. As a stranger, I give you my heartfelt condolences..."

"Just tell me why you're here." Wick demanded.

"I like you, John, you're not like my guys. You want the point and nothing else. So, you keep up with the news, John?"

"No, I've been...busy, taking care of some business."

"You mean getting back into work?"

"No." John bluntly denied.

"If you say so, John. But anyway, I've got an offer for you. There's an asylum in Gotham City having a riot. Not gonna lie, I've been a frequent member to that shithole. I got busted out and haven't been back since, so I'm a little apprehensive to go back, especially if the bat comes looking for me."

"You mean..."

"The Batman? Yes. The solution is that Batman is currently on the shelf in that prison. I can already bet Bane's made him his bitch," Black Mask laughed, continuing, "But I've got issues with the guy in charge of that takeover, the Joker. The thing about that crazy bastard is that everyone knows he's obsessed with Batman. Not in figuring out who he is or killing him but just messing with the guy. He beat his sidekick with a crowbar then blew him up, he paralyzed his female sidekick and put her nudes on a slideshow for her dad to watch, and spends every waking moment of his life making Batman's life a living hell because Batman doesn't have the guts to kill him. But you do. And you can help me."

"What exactly are you proposing?"

"Oh, come on, John, isn't it obvious? You took Viggo and his empire down just like you built it up. I'm sure you can take a prison full of wackos with no problem. The issue is that that places houses people with ungodly power. You heard of Deathstroke?"

"Of course."

"Good, he and Joker are only the tip of the iceberg, thank God they keep Croc in the basement but Bane's gonna be a problem. So, there's two parts to my offer, John..."

"I'm gonna stop you right there. I don't know you, I don't owe you any favors, and I'm not going to help you. You know where the door is, I'm giving you the chance to walk away now." John interjected.

Black Mask chuckled at John's tone, responding, "Oh, really, John? What's stopping you from shooting me right now? I came in here without a piece as a sign of good faith. You kill me and my guys out there, which I have no doubt you'd do without issue, and I'm no longer a threat to consider. But what about the next guy? And the next guy? And the next guy? And all the guys who can find out where you live and just come here? You're not going to be able to fight all of them off, John. You're a popular man, for better and worse."

"What do you have to offer me?"

"I love ya, John, you're self-interested just like me. I've got connections everywhere with everyone, John. You name him, I've met him and dealt with him. But no one crosses Black Mask. You do this for me, I say a few words, talk to a few people at the head of a lot of crime families and syndicates, and you never have anyone from your old life coming to your doorstep ever again. I can guarantee that, John. You know me, just like I know you."

John glared at Black Mask, gathering his thoughts before asking, "What's the job you need done?"

"Good," Black Mask began, "Joker needs to be put down. I don't care about the body count to him, he needs to be dead. I've got the criminal world under my thumb, hell, I could stand up to the High Table if I needed to. And you know if I'm telling the truth, that's why Viggo steered clear of me and you know it. But what I do care about is Gotham. That's _my_ city. Word on the street is Joker took all my goons on the inside and made them is clowns. Everyone in Gotham knows what he did to Batman, it's only a matter of time before he's the most powerful person in Gotham. And who's to say it'll stop there? Get him a glowing rock and he takes Metropolis, he'll have an army by then. The guy has no aim without Batman, he can take the world and everything from me at this rate because he's doing what no one else could for years. He's beaten Batman. It'll be the first domino to fall and we're going to stop it."

John let out a long exhale, looking at his gun as Black Mask continued, "You shut him down now, John, and everything goes back to normal, for you and me. One last job, John, and we never meet again unless you want a night on the town, dinner, football tailgating..."

John only continued to stare at his gun, Black Mask remarking, "God, you're no fun, John. But that'll change quick. What do you say, do we have a deal?"

John finally looked up at Black Mask, his hand extended to seal the deal. John responded, "I'll need guns. A lot of guns."

Black Mask chuckled, replying, "We can get you more guns and ammo than you'll ever need."

* * *

A Ford Mustang roared through a rain-slicked city, clouds parting to reveal a blinding full moon behind them. Behind the wheel, John held the wheel in one hand and rested his other on the center console, nervously drumming his fingers against it. His hair was slicked back and adorned himself in a new black suit. He looked to his GPS, only a half a mile away from the infamous asylum. The ringing of his phone took his mind off of the job at hand, answering it to Black Mask chiming, "Ah, glad to hear from ya, Johnny. Now, listen, I don't want to put any more pressure on you but those guys say they'll kill guards if they see you at the gate or Batman if you get in. Just thought I'd drop that information off to ya."

"Does either affect my job?"

Black Mask let out a hearty laugh, replying, "Goddamn, John, you are cold as they come! Of course not, remember, the body count doesn't matter as long as Joker's dead."

"Any idea where I can find him?"

"Not a clue, John. The estate's massive, there's five buildings but I'd cross medical facility and botanical garden for start, unless he's really elusive. You should have a map of the place I gave you. Think you've got enough rounds and guns to do the job?"

John came up within view of the asylum's sprawling gates, coasting to a stop as he rolled down his window, holding off, "One moment, please," before leaning out his window with his compensated pistol and firing a round at the lock, blowing clean through it and letting out a piercing screech as it slowly creaked open. John drove past the gate as he continued, "I believe so. Thank you for the accommodations for my work, it's appreciated."

"Anytime, Johnboy, but it sounds like you're there. We'll be in touch." Black Mask assured, the call ending.

John slid his phone into his pocket as he pulled up beside a dented Batmobile, merely furrowing his brow for a moment at it before killing the engine. He made his way to the to his trunk, turning his key in the lock before it popped open, revealing several ammo stackers, each filled to the brim with pistol, rifle, and shotgun rounds. John holstered his pistol as he produced an AR-15, testing its bolt before looking down its sights. He set it down and brought up a Benelli M4 to his shoulder, aiming with it as he worked the ejection port on it. He then rested it into the crook of his arm and tested the loading port with his thumb, setting it back in the trunk. He grabbed his first belt of ammo and, after hiking up his suit jacket, clipped it around his hips and under his pants, sliding and re-buttoning his coat over it. No sooner had he smoothed over his jacket than did a man shout, "Hey, buddy, didn't you get the message? No one's allowed on the island or we start killing hostages. And looks like you just cost Batman his life."

John carefully closed the hood of his trunk, keeping his hand on his holstered pistol as he turned to face the man confronting him. He found a group of a half dozen muscular men, there faces painted like clowns and their only clothing being their prison pants. John merely stared at the men, the one who confronted him before responding, "Hey, buddy, are you deaf or what? We said you ain't supposed to be here! Looks like you've gotten some people killed. And one of 'em's gonna be you, pal. Let's get him, boys."

The men charged at John, the first to confront him lunging at him with a haymaker. John caught his wrist in his hand, turning his back to him before flipping him over his shoulder. The man grunted on impact, the wind leaving his lungs as he writhed on the ground. The next man spun John around and attempted to club him the the stomach, only for John to intercept his blow with a downward swipe of his fists, using the momentum to draw his pistol and jam the slide up into the man's throat, stunning him. John took aim and shot the man through the forehead, his head rocking back before he collapsed to the ground. His allies looked on in shock, John turning and firing down through the top of the man's skull he threw to the ground as he began to stir. "Whoa, hang on, that's John Wick!" one of the surviving men said.

"Bullshit, there ain't anyway he's in Gotham." another whispered.

"No, man, I swear to God that's him. I know it!"

"Well, even if it is, there's four of us and one of him, get him!"

With that, then men descended on John once again, the assassin taking down two more with head and chest shots before the other two reach him. John ducks a wild swipe of one of their fists, blasting his knee cap out and forcing him to a knee as she shouted in pain. John was then tackled to the ground by the final inmate, the man trying desperately to gain some separation from John's grip to beat him. John got the upper hand and wrapped his legs around the man's neck, squeezing with all his might as the man struggled to free himself from the triangle joke. John, put his pistol to the man's forehead and pulled the trigger, spraying his comrade in the gore. John pushed the corpse aside, his hysterical final foe pleading as John rose and approached him, "Whoa-whoa-whoa, hey, John, cool it! Here, look, I surrender. I'll give you whatever you want!"

John ignored him as he strolled up to him and shot him in the head, the corpse collapsing to its side as John looked on at the intensive treatment ward. John checked his mag before slamming it back into the gun, locking his car with a click of a button before charging to the entrance.


	2. The Cutting Edge

The giant, metal latches of the entrance to intensive treatment flung off in a synchronized harmony before the two halves of the thick door parted ways. John slowly stepped in while switching his aim around sporadically, gun aimed by his chest at an angle. John made his way down the entrance hall and to the second set of doors beneath a sign that read "ARKHAM ASYLUM INTENSIVE TREATMENT," the cameras on either side snapping to record him, a gravelly voice demanding, "Now who on Earth do you think you are? There's no one allowed on the island, pal, so now you can turn around before I kill any hostages, capiche?"

John merely stared at the cameras, the man on the mic once more ordering, "Are you deaf?! This joint couldn't spring for something for the hearing impaired, what a shame. How about I do you a solid and let you in, see how long that pea shooter gets you?"

The door before John unlocked and opened just like the one before, the clown on the other end saying, "Enjoy your stay at Arkham Asylum, you can stay as long as you rot like the rest of us."

With that, John put a round in each camera, Joker recoiling back in the control room as he growled, "Who the hell do you think you are pal, let's see how much fun you have with Slade's boys."

John ran down the empty hall beyond the blast doors, finding only a few crumpled, bloody bodies of guards leading to a platform elevator. As soon as John set his feet on the platform, the engine kicked on and the assassin slowly descended to the next level, mostly caged off with barbed wire topping it. Taking the narrow entrance, he was sprayed with a thick smoke as he passed through a decontamination zone and was scanned from every angle by piercing lights thereafter. The alarms began to sound as the Joker pestered John again, "Oh, my, sneaking contraband in a maximum security prison? For shame, buddy, that's some serious time in solitary. But, seeing as you're all by yourself, I'll consider your punishment a fair sentence of getting torn apart by the wackos of this dump. As always, enjoy your stay," he drew off, hitting the loud speakers throughout the building, "Oh, boys, we've got fresh meat! Go easy on the new guy, will you, it's his first night in the pokey. Don't kill him until I get there."

The door at the end of the checking zone sunk into the floor, the roars and cheers of the inmates in the asylum becoming deafening in an instant. John tentatively entered and found two paths, one locked off to the left and his path to the right wide open. Taking the obvious route, John, a concrete wall separating the two rooms until he made it halfway through the hallway, chain link replacing it and revealing dozens of men dressed as clowns on the other side, rattling the fence and shouting at him. John merely shot one in the head before they all stepped back and went silent, the men muttering among themselves as John spoke, "I don't suppose any of you know where I can find a Joker?"

One of the men spoke up with a laugh, mocking, "You want the boss? You'll have to go through us!"

John tilted his head to the side before dropping the man with a round between the eyes, repeating himself, "Where is the Joker?"

"Go on ahead, man," another spoke up, "Joker's running this whole asylum, your best way through is down that elevator. Control room is further down towards the center of intensive treatment."

"Thanks," John began, heading off to leave the room and turning to speak before he left, "Be seeing you."

* * *

Joker sat in front of his monitor, hand propped against his chin and other index finger tapping on the desk, the door behind him flying open as a blonde woman in black and red corset with matching thigh-high boots and a painted face strutted in, calling, "Hey, puddin', I saw you made the news! I'm so proud of you! How about a big kiss?"

Joker sat silent, continuing to drum his finger on the desk. Harley hunched over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck as she whispered, "What's a matter, hun? You won, you've got the bat and the police here right where you want 'em? Why don't you do the same with me?"

Joker stood up and looked at the freezframe of John on the camera, taking aim at it. "Who's that loser?"

Without warning, Joker cracked Harley across the mouth with the back of his hand, sending her to the ground, bewildered as she asked, "What was that for?"

"That loser is John Wick." Joker hissed, glaring over his shoulder at the screen.

"Who?"

Joker snapped to face Harley, her fear overriding the pain she felt in her jaw, pacing his way towards her as he began to detail who they were up against.

John steps onto the elevator, sliding the door shut behind him before it descended down into the containment levels.

"John Wick is a man who makes Deathstroke look mediocre. A man who rivals Black Mask in the underworld. And a man who kills for a master. My question is why is he here?"

"Hun, he's only one guy, why don't we just send some guys to kill him? What about Bane?" Harley asked.

Joker chuckled at Harley before he continued, "John Wick is a man of focus. Commitment. Sheer will. I've heard he's killed three men in a bar...with just a pencil."

"Hun, you've done that, remember?"

"Yeah, as a magic trick and the guy didn't see it coming! He's killed three men with one, who does that?!" Joker shouted, turning from Harley as he mumbled, "Well, Baba Yaga, you're not going anywhere on this island unless I want you to. And that's only when you play ball and let me know what I want."

"Who are you talking to, babe?"

"Get out of my sight, Harley. Make yourself useful and figure out why he's here."

"You've got it, puddin'!" Harley cheered, hopping to her feet and happily strutting out of the room as if nothing happened.

"Well, John-boy, let's see if you really live up to the hype." Joker pondered, switching his view to the holding cells.

* * *

John exited the elevator and made his way into the holding cells, a wall of electricity lighting up behind him and at the opposite end of the room. "Welcome to the holding cells, Johnathan! I can't believe I had such an esteemed guest in my hallowed walls without even a spectacle for you. I apologize for the lack of fireworks but let's make up for that with some cheap entertainment. Go play, boys!"

Joker opened three of the cells in the room and three prisoners in gray jumpsuits charged at John. The first attempted to take his head off with a haymaker, John, smashing into his wrist with the butt of his pistol before following up with an elbow to his ear. The man fell to his knee as John took him by the scruff of his shirt and pants and spun him around before flinging him headfirst into his comrade's crotch, dropping them both in a daze. The two injured convicts made eye contact before a single round splattered their blood and brains over one another. John was put on the defensive as the final inmate came swinging at him, managing to get him by the shoulders and launch at him with knees to the gut. John did his best to block the shots with his forearms, taking an opening and stomping and grinding his shoe into the man's barefoot. The inmate howled with pain, stumbling back before John took aim at him. Trying to save his life, the inmate charged John in spite of the pain, attempting to tackle him to the ground as he got his arms around his waist. John countered by ramming the butt of his pistol into the base of the man's neck, sending an electric jolt of pain through his body before he drew his knife from his back pocket. John spun loose from the inmate's grip and took him to the ground in a rear naked choke, knife aimed at his jugular. The inmate kept the leverage with both hands on John's wrist, keeping the blade from his neck. John reversed the leverage and rolled the man onto his stomach, putting his free hand on the back of his head and slowly forcing the man onto the blade. In one final swoop, John retched the knife aside, ripping the man's neck wide open.

"YAWN," Joker taunted, "I can't believe three guys gave you that much trouble, Johnny. How about we prove yourself to me this time? Fresh from Blackgate Correctional Facility, with a combined sentence of 752 years, ding ding ding! It's round two!"

The final cell opened and four men spilled forward. John shot one dead with his final bullet, bringing his arm back and hurling his pistol into the face of the next inmate, breaking his nose and dropping him to a knee as he held his face. John took the man by the wrist and twisted it over his shoulder, hurling the man over his head and making him kick his comrade over the crown of the skull. One unconscious and the other writhing around holding his ribs and face, the final living inmate swiped at John with a jagged shiv, the assassin juking back from each swing. Caught off balance, the inmate managed to kick John in the chest and take him off his feet. The crook rose his foot up and prepared to stomp John to a pulp, his first attempt being met with a knife impaling his foot. John seized the shrieking man by the ankle as he extracted his knife, swiping the other foot of the man out from under him with his free hand. The inmate plummeted forward, John preparing his knife before him in a praying position as the man fell chest-first onto the blade. John rolled the corpse off of him before being punted in the ribs, rolling to his knees before the bleeding convict seized him by the head and attempted to knee him. John blocked the blow with his forearms, inverting the grip on his knife and jamming it into the inmate's stomach. The inmate collapsed onto John's shoulder, John freeing his blade and jamming it into his shoulder blade, the man tensing up in pain as John embraced him. The assassin turned and slammed the man into the ground, burying the blade into his body and the tip protruding from his chest.

"I'd say well done, John, but I'm less than impressed. Out of pity, I'll let you on your way ahead, purely because I want to either see you die or prove to me you are all that you're cracked up to be. Hell, I see why Riddler wastes his time poking the Bat, it's so damn fun to have your competition have to prove themselves to you! Tell Zsasz I said hi!" Joker ranted, signing off with his chilling cackle.

John rolled the corpse over and retrieved his knife, the blade retreating into the handle with the flick of a button. He loosed the empty magazine from his gun and jammed in a fresh one, the moaning of a reawakened inmate having him snap to fire a shot into his forehead, dropping him one final time. John took note of the arrows guiding his way, the electrical barriers turning off but the buzz of the power they held making him hurry through. Following the painted path, screams of terror ahead of the designated path piqued his interest. A man in armor came tearing around the corner, John taking aim at him as he pleaded, "Hey, hey, don't shoot, I'm a cop!"

John lowered his aim as the man continued to question, "Who are you? We gotta get out of here, man, Zsasz is on the loose and he's already taken out most of my men."

"I'm sorry, Zsasz?"

"You must be new here, dude. Look, let's get out of here and I'll explain e-"

The officer was cut off by the slice of metal on flesh, a blade sticking out form his chest. The man's breath grew shallow and labored as he forced himself to look down, then once again up at John as he uttered, "Run."

An arm in an orange sleeve with a thick, iron shackle around the wrist wrapped around his neck, the butcher knife in the hand unzipping his throat before John. A bald, scar-riddled man in sleeves, muay-thai-like shorts, and various shackles and locks looked at John with predatory eyes and a crooked smile. The man retrieved his knife from the corpse with a twist of the handle, revealing his high, trembling voice, "Pleasure to see you here, Mister Wick. Funny, I thought you'd gone quiet. You're no Bat but you'll be the finest addition to my tally thus far. Shall we?"

"Let's." John replied, opening fire on the madman.

Zsasz ducked the shots and retreated down the narrow hall to a separate corridor leading to the patient pacification chamber. John peaked around the corner and immediately had to duck around the corner, a throwing knife flying past his face. "It's not often I miss, John, don't waste your luck and leave while you still can."

John burst around the corner and began opening fire, only for Szasz to duck into the holding room down the hall. John barreled ahead after him, the electric barrier behind him flipping on as Harley's voice boomed from the speakers, "Ha, gotcha, Johnny! Have fun with Zsasz, I'm sure he'll take his time with ya. Play nice, will ya, boys."

With that, Zsasz plummeted from the ceiling onto John, tackling the assassin to the floor and straddling his abdomen. Zsasz rose his knives overhead and plunged them down at John, the assassin catching Szasz's wrist with his forearm and jamming his free palm in Szasz's chin, chipping his front teeth and rocking him back. John took Szasz's hands under his arm and pulled him in, striking him repeatedly in the throat with his fist. Satisfied with his work, John rolled over his shoulder and pinned Szasz to the ground, clubbing him across the jaw to further daze him. John wrapped leg around Szasz's left arm and took his wrist under his arm, falling to the side and making his elbow bend at an excruciating angle. John released Szasz to writhe about on the ground, retrieving his pistol just in time to be bum rushed and slammed into the wall. Szasz grabbed John by the hair and slammed his face into the wall, taking advantage of his dazed foe as he whirled him around and threw him into the electric barrier. John was blasted back in a flash of blue, the assassin yelping in pain and collapsing to his back. "Come on, John, submissions in a knife fight? Now you're just asking me to take my time and enjoy your suffering." Szasz lamented, popping his elbow back in place.

John regained his senses just as a knife came soaring at his face, the assassin retching his head to the side as the blade imbedded into the floor. Szasz leapt into the air, hands clasped over his other knife and prepared to finish of John. The assassin brought his knee to his chest and shot his foot into the air, catching Szasz in the chin and sending him crashing onto the back of his head. John retrieved the knife from the ground and, just as Szasz sat up, launched the blade at his face, driving it into his forehead right between his most prominent scars. Szasz's head flopped back, his wild, fixated look remaining on his face. "Oh, you're no fun, Johnny," Harley called out once more, "But, Mister J has a soft spot for ya, so I'll let you be on your way."

The barrier turned off with that, Harley adding, "Be seeing you in the secure treatment transfer, Johnny. Ta-ta."

John was nearly taken to the ground as Szasz wrapped himself around John's shoulders, knife aimed at his heart. John fought and trembled against the killer's efforts, managing to get enough leeway to throw him over his shoulder before him. Szasz slashed at John's shin as soon as he hit the ground, causing the assassin to limp backwards. The madman rolled to his knee and readied his knife, throwing it at John and striking him in the shoulder. The assassin lost another step as Zsasz charge in to finish him off, John ripping the knife from his body and hitting Zsasz's knife in his head with a front kick. The blow stopped Zsasz in his tracks, half the blade having sunk into his skull as the killer stumbled around aimlessly. John flipped the knife in his hand, catching the blade by the tip and whipped into it Zsasz's chest, sinking all the way to the handle. Shock overcame Zsasz's face, his hands cupping the area around his punctured chest. Unable to come to terms with his imminent demise, Szasz was taken by the back of the head and slammed face-first into the wall, the entire knife having sunk into his skull. The corpse slid to its stomach, John regaining his pistol once more before strolling back to the marked path, panting, and checking the directory for where Harley told him to head.

* * *

Opting for the route through decontamination, John was met with the horrified screams of the men within. A green, wafting gas filled the room, a man slamming up against the glass and pounding on it, begging to be freed. Through his catcher-like helmet, John could see a manic smile on the man's face, tears strolling down his cheeks as he began to uncontrollably laugh, sliding out of view as a blast door sealed itself over the window. John stared in annoyance at the sealed window, sighing to himself, "I guess I'm going back through the holding cells, then."

* * *

The latches flung off and the door parted ways to reveal the Baba Yaga on the other side, John stepping into the room that was little more than an extended platform littered with a few corpses of officers before thick titanium doors and what may as well have been an abyss between them. "Well, John, I can only assume you took care of Szasz, from what Harley said. So, I figured, why not give you a taste of what I had in store for Bats, since you're taking his place and starting to put him out of a job? Shall we?" Joker spoke through the intercom.

The sets of doors split open as a massive metal box suspended by chains was sent to John. The valve on the door began to spiral on its own, the door flinging open to reveal a massive, misshapen human within, bones protruding from his flesh and eyes glowing green. A muscle-bound monstrosity leapt onto the platform. John opened fire on the beast, his rounds sinking into its chest and forehead but to no effect as the beast roared at him and charged. John rolled out of the beast's path and watched as it slammed into a wall, dazing it as it held its head. John took the opportunity to reload his pistol and unload once more on the beast, only for it to back hand him with its massive hand and wrap him around the guard rail. Grunting and struggling to find his footing, John stood up as the beast retrieved a body, turning and flinging at him like a baseball. John sidestepped the corpse, the body smashing through the railing and ragdolling into the darkness. The beast grabbed another body and prepared to hurl it again with a roar, only to cough and sputter as a round sailed into the back of his throat, dropping it to a knee. John charged the beast once again, only for it to suddenly rise and drive its fist into the ground, launching him back from the shockwave of the blow.

Before John could scurry back to his feet, the creature began to meander about, groaning it what he could only assume was pain as it held its head in its massive palms. The beast began to convulse and, in one final pulse, the light left the beast's eyes before it collapsed back. Observing the sprawling monster, John was once more greeted by the Joker's voice, the clown lamenting, "Well, that was unexpected, wasn't it. Note to self, need stronger test subjects. Oh, well, you learn through trial and error, John. I've got no use for you right now, I'm sure I can reach you when I do. You just explore and enjoy the place, John, don't worry about the clean up, we've got a guy just chomping at every bit we give him in the cellar."

Just as the transmission ended, one of the observation rooms' barriers switched off and a guard rushed out, praising, "Oh, thank God, someone else is still alive in here. What's your name? Is Zsasz still running around out there?"

"He's taken care of. And we'll exchange names if you can get me out of here and point me to any other building to find Joker. And don't say we go through decontamination, it's being...fumigated." John replied.

"Oh, great, that's where we were holding all of our wounded. Well, we just gotta get back to the elevator, head to the surface, and, in all honesty, he could be anywhere. Just gotta breach and clear, I guess."

"Sounds like a plan, that got any ammo?" John asked, gesturing to his rifle.

"Yeah, I've got a few spare mags, too. Why, you need any?"

"No," John began, checking his magazine before placing it back in, "I'm good."

The newly formed duo made their way down the halls, the guard asking, "So, look, I know I'm kind of indebted to you for saving my ass but who are you? Seriously, Batman got taken out but I've never even seen you. Only a man with a death wish would be on this island right now. Why are you in Arkham?"

"Let's just say I have business to take care of."

"What, did Joker kill your family? Wife? Dog?"

"No," John said, stopping in his tracks to stare the man down, "somebody else beat him to it."

John continued on his path, the man following nervously behind after he managed to shake off his stare. "Hey, I know I'm just being a pest and holding you back but let's just cool down and recoop, man. The name's Jamie, been a guard here for two years last month. Heh, I'm sure you've heard all about this place and are wondering why I'd even take a job here with the history it's got?"

"No." John replied bluntly.

"Oh...o-kay then. So what's your story?"

John rolled his eyes, merely responding, "I'm John Wick."

The guard froze in his tracks, a chill running down his spine as those words processed through his ear. "Oh...alright...say no more."

John replied with a thumbs up, the guard keeping his distance until they reached the elevator. The duo piled in and John tapped the button, the scissor doors shutting and the cables jolted to life, lurching before taking them up. "You know, all the guys in here talk about you. So, how much of what they say about you is true?" Jamie pondered.

John was interrupted as the Joker's unnerving faced came on the screens in each corner, finally giving the assassin a look at his target. "Ah, good to see ya again, John, and, look, you've made a friend. Well, I don't mean to be a third wheel or go back on my offers but this is one route I can't let you take right now. But don't worry, that clean-up guy I told you about in the basement," Joker stated, producing a detonator, "I'll let ya meet him."

With a press of his thumb, a bomb exploded on the pulleys of the elevator, sending them into freefall, all the while Joker's maniacal laugh filled their ears until they smashed into bedrock.


	3. The Deadliest are Always Unseen

All around him was blurred, even after he blinked. His ears rang mercilessly. He had no sense of what happened or where he was as he came to. He shifted his leg slightly, the volt of pain that radiated up his limb and spine making him stretch out to compensate. His foot kicked his new comrade in the hip, lying prone amidst the rubble, making him groan and attempt to push himself up. Jamie was met with the ceiling of the elevator bumping him in the back, his head shooting up involuntarily and helmet clinking against the metal. "You alright?" John asked.

"Are we dead?" Jamie responded.

"No, but we have to get moving." John ordered.

The two quickly found a small gap between the floor and ceiling, wiggling their way through it on their forearms. Upon rising, they found themselves in a moist, mold-riddled room with a few gun boxes stuck around the walls. "I don't suppose there's a staircase down here?" John asked.

"No. That's only the bad news. Wanna hear the worse news?"

"If it can get any worse."

"There's an elevator at the other side of this sewer up ahead. The problem is that's where we keep Killer Croc."

"Do your employers not see the problem in keeping all of the most powerful people in the underworld in one place is a horrible idea?"

Jamie paused at that, mulling it over before replying, "Honestly, it never even crossed my mind. But we can redesign this prison as soon as we get back to the surface."

John took the lead and went to a large, metal door with a unique pull system, at first trying to pull back on it before Jamie corrected him and pushed it down. John nodded before taking point again, heading down a narrow, winding corridor. In the wake of the next door, a skull and crossbones was painted on the left, the words "STAY OUT" sprawled underneath, and a cache of bones filling the holes in the brick wall to the left. "Oh, man..." Jamie hushed.

"Safeties off, Jamie." John replied, heading through the door.

A stream greeted them on the other side, pouring down a brick basin and dumping into a deeper, fast-flowing river lie ahead in the subterranean cave. The smell of rot was strong, far stronger than waste should have been. It was the rot of flesh, bodies left to be mangled and consumed by the sole inhabitant. Jamie covered his mouth and gagged, commenting, "Oh, man, I remember why I hated coming down here now."

John strolls ahead, peering around the corner at the widening of the stream and looks over the surroundings. Water dumped down from the massive pipes jutting from the walls on the opposite side. Before him was a steel walkway that hung over the water, torn upward and broken in his wake, a void and suspension chains from the ceiling the only things left. The right path leading them to the drainage area of the river of waste, filtering underneath a large, rectangular landing. In the center of the landing was another rusted door, blood seeping down it and across the landing into the water, the small window on it shattered. "It's fairly straight forward, come on." John called out.

A reptilian growl and the stirring of water caught John's attention, finding no sign of what he had heard. He looked back to a terrified Jamie, the guard pursing his lips and holding his finger to them, getting only a nod from John. John tested the walkway with the weight of his foot, slowly pressing onto it and feeling no give or sway to his step. The two slowly paced their way down the walkway, paying attention to every drip, every creak, and every sound around them. The two made it halfway, to their right another path further into the depths of the sewer. John gazed down it as he heard another hiss from within, Jamie creeping his way past. The scuttle of a brick across the grate at their feet brought John back, the seemingly thunderous crashing crescendoing into the brick crashing into the water with a deep, sucking plop. The two stared at the ripples in horror, unsure of their next move. After several tense moments, Jamie sighed, whispering, "Man, that was cl-"

The ground beneath them erupted, shooting them up into the air and snapping the section of walkway off its chains. The duo plunged into the algae-filled, murky waters, John's immediate rise to the surface interrupted as a colossal fist seized him by the chest and rushed him through the water, smashing him into the wall and sending several bubbles of air from his mouth. The assassin tried to gain his bearings, seeing the cage-like grate walkway slowly floating down before him. Bubbles passing before his face caught his attention, John looking down to see a monstrous, scaly beast soaring up after him with its tooth maw wide open. John took the steel and braced it beneath him, the beast losing no momentum as it catapulted him out of the water and into the air. The assassin crashed in the entrance of the further divert into the sewers, John immediately scrambled to his feet as the beast let loose a bone-chilling roar that tapered into an animalistic hiss. It's scaly, clawed hand shot up over the edge, pulling itself up to meet John as he fell back further into the entrance. The assassin took notice of the cage he'd passed through, reaching up and slamming the door shut before him. The hulking behemoth rose out of the depths, glaring down at John to reveal its features. Its entire body was covered in scales, teeth gnarled and massive like the reptile it resembled, and eyes yellow and seeming to glow. A metal collar wrapped around its thick neck with a chain hanging from it, as well as shackles and shattered chains on his wrists and ankles, the only thing remotely human about it was the filthy red pants it wore. The beast took several audible whiffs of the air and, to his surprise, spoke in a slurping, gravelly tone, "Ah, it really is you," the beast began, giggling and slurping its own saliva back, "Welcome to my lair, John Wick. My home will become your tomb."

John responded by firing several shots at Croc, most bouncing off his hide without issue but one struck the monster's collar. The round caused the collar to light up and buzz with electricity, causing him to thrash about in agony as its roar echoed throughout the basement. The beast then exhaled in rage, turning to John as it said, "Be seeing you, John. But I doubt you'll see me until it's too late."

With that, Croc turned and dove into the waters out of John's sight. With no options left, John turned and headed further into the sewers. The concrete floor he walked on gave way to wooden pallets floating in stagnant, putrid waters before him. John took the opportunity to reload his pistol and was careful to place to the spent magazine into his pocket. John tentatively made his way down the makeshift walkway, his feet partially submersing in the water and causing scores of ripples to radiate out from his steps. He made his way to the junction of a crossroads, the center pallet made of thicker, more tightly packed planks, bound on the edge by iron. As soon as John stepped on the pallet and began to think of his next move, the water behind him began to broil over with bubbles. John could only mouth, "Shit," before Croc launched up onto his pallet, catapulting him in the air over Croc with a somersault as he crashed back-first onto a pallet with a wet plop.

Croc could only turn to face John as he rolled onto his stomach and opened fire from his prone position, bouncing several rounds off of Croc's collar as the beast writhed about before collapsing into the water. John took the chance to get up and sprint straight ahead, leaping over each gap between the pallets as he did so. His path ended in a junction to the right ahead but he had no chance of making it, the pallet beneath him exploding as Croc launched up through it, snapping in the air as John arched his body to avoid his jaws. The two plunged into the murky depths, John being dragged down by his foot as soon as he was submerged. John was flung down into the bedrock of the water, slamming flat against the hard stone bottom. Barely any light pierced these waters, John only able to make out Croc's silhouette in the muck. The beast threw its fist down on John with all his might, the assassin only moving his head aside to avoid being crushed. The blow went over John's shoulder, the water around him trembling and giving him an opening as he produced a knife from his pocket. With a flick of the button, the blade shot out and was immediately grasped around the waist in Croc's massive paw. He pulled John in for a killing bite but was met with a stab to the eye, blood further darkening the water as John took the opportunity to make a dash for the surface.

Before John could break free, he was once more seized by the ankle and dragged back down. Lashing out in desperation, John kicked out and struck Croc in the nose, rocking his head back and dazing him. A plank of wood fluttered into John's arms, the assassin taking it like a spear and began to repeatedly ram it between the beast's eyes. With one last thrust, John drove the plank down Croc's mouth and throat, the beast spewing a torrent of bubbles. Slowly, its group loosened on John and the body sunk into the depths.

John swung up his head out of the water, gasping for air before swimming to the nearest plank path and hoisting himself up on it. The assassin lie one his back and caught his breath for a time, finally mustering the energy to pull his soaked body off the wood and casually stroll down the maze of water and pallets to find an exit. At the next junction of pallets, a distant groan caught is attention but, this time, it was different. It sounded more human and pained. Additionally, John took notice to the bubbles streaming up at the end of his path before the pallet in the middle of the junction. John froze and looked to his feet, taking notice to the ripples he was making in the water with every move. Slowly and as meticulously as possible, John reached into his pocket and drew his spent magazine, rearing back and hurling it down the path to the left. The magazine bounced off the wall before slapping into the water, John ducking further back down his hall as he could hear Croc burst out of the water, the beast turning and searching in all directions for John. He sniffed the air, unable to find John's scent for the putrescent waters he had been immersed in. "You're lucky I can't find your scent, John, but I will find you." Croc hissed before slinking back into the water.

John sighed with relief, the groan catching his attention again, coming from the path to the right. John carefully made his way down the path, doing his best to alleviate his disturbance in the water. As his path ended in another dead end with only a right to go, John found Jamie, lying prone on a pallet with blood pooling around him. John looked behind him, finding the coast clear, and turned back to Jamie, stifling out a yelp of, "Jamie!"

No response. "Jamie!"

Again, Jamie lie silent. John sighed, "Dammit," before trudging his way to him. John took Jamie by the collar and hauled him out of the water, only to find his legs had been gnawed off above the knee. John turned the corpse over, finding his eyes gouged out and throat slit. He looked around to see if any sign of Croc was available and found none. He looked at the corpse once again, finding it was still tightly holding onto its H&K G36. John went to work, prying the fingers off the rifle for him himself, stripping him off his remaining magazines and taking them on his own. He free the current mag and checked it, finding it full before replacing it and racking around. All of a sudden, a pallet three away from John exploded, Croc's fist sinking back into the water before destroying the next one. The assassin turned and bolted down the path, Croc closing the gap and soon was destroying pallets just as John lept from them. John reached one last junction, another left at the next one and he'd be back to where he started. But his path was cut off as Croc lunged out of the water into his path, glaring down at John as he roared, "There you are!"

Croc charged at John, only for a few rounds to strike his collar and send thousands of volts ripping through his body. Croc clutched the collar and lost his balance, plunging into the water as John bolted ahead. Soon, John was once again on solid ground and rushing to the exit. He, however, realized he locked himself in and struggled to raised the cage door again. The thunderous footsteps behind him brought John to face the charging Croc. John leveled the rifle and dumped the magazine on monster, most harmlessly bouncing off his hide but one managed to knock off of the collar, once again electrocuting the beast. Croc used his momentum as his muscles seized up, flinging himself at John and spearing him through the cage, the metal bars rattling against the ground as the two crashed onto the cold, hard ground. John quickly scrambled to his feet, trying to make his way to his rifle but he was cut off by a backhand that nearly caved his chest in, bouncing him off the wall like a ball. The assassin moaned in pain, still attempting to get to his feet as Croc took him by the head, commending, "You and Batman aren't too different, John. You never quit. Well, not at least until I crush your head like an egg."

Croc let out a victorious laugh, John finding one of the iron bars before him, the floral head like a lance to him. In one motion, John seized it and drove it into Croc's foot, the beast releasing him and falling to a knee as he shrieked at his agonizing wound. Taking the opportunity, John drew his knife once again and lunged into the air, taking the knife in both hands before plunging it into the back of Croc's skull. The beast was forced down from the blow, his other eye skewered by the jagged, snapped end of the bar. Croc sit there, motionless yet hissing in pain, lashing out blindly from his pinned position as John retrieved his rifle. The assassin placed a fresh magazine in and approached the wounded Croc, putting his hand on his forehead and pushing him off the bar to an upright position. The blind Croc merely spoke, "Being seeing you, John."

John took the rifle in his free hand and jammed it into Croc's mouth, rebuffing, "No, you won't."

With that, John once more emptied the rifle into Croc, his body violently seizing and convulsing as the rounds struck the back of his throat. Finally, the bullets punched through his hide and began to rip a hole through the base of his spine, functionally decapitating him. Unsatisfied by the end of his gunfire, John took Croc by the head in both hands and slammed his head forward, ramming the gun further into his mouth, out his wounds and causing it to rupture the top of his skull from his lower jaw. John retrieved his knife, the skull still sticking to it until a flick of his wrist sent it plopping into the water. He then collected his rifle and put the final clip of Jamie's into it. He spared a final look for the corpse before making his way to the door, silently lamenting his sopping wet suit.

John had no sooner passed through the door than was he greeted by the alarm of a half dozen goons before him, one wagging a finger at him and shouting, "Hey, you ain't supposed to be here. Get him boys."

The group charged John, the assassin dropping the nearest with a few shots to the chest and one to the head. Realizing he'd soon be overwhelmed, John reared the rifle back over his head and whipped it ahead like an axe, the magazine and grip ramming into the chin and forehead of the next man up and knocking him flat. John blocked the punch of the next with his forearm, immediately striking him in the throat and following up with a kick to the crotch. He ducked under the clothesline of another closing criminal, spinning around and loosening the teeth of the last crook with a back elbow. John turned and blocked another haymaker, straight punching the con in the throat before seizing his wrist and twisting his arm over his head, turning and slamming him onto his already prone comrade. John was clocked upside the head by the last vertical con's fist, sending him reeling to the side before he regained his balance. The crook attempted to kick John, only for the assassin to catch his leg under his arm. The crook hopped helplessly, trying to catch John with a series of hooks that he easily dodged. John swept the crook's other foot out with his own, grasping his face and driving the back of his skull into the concrete.

Finding his foes unmoving, John reclaimed his rifle and put a bullet in every one of their skulls, advancing down the hall and following the arrows. The surroundings were not unlike that of a hospital, with tile floors and walls, buzzing fluorescent lights ahead, and pipes creeping from the walls. John covered his mouth as he let loose a cough, the sound of steam passing through a broken pipe hissing through the air. Soon, John could hear voices whispering all around, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to be understood. They grew louder and harder to ignore until the sounds of screams drowned them out. As John rounded a corner, he found a room flooded with what looked like smoke from beyond a thick pane of glass. Medical carts, a dentist's chair, medical tools, and blood littered the room, John barely able to make that there were men inside from the bloodstained glass. One was sitting in the fetal position, facing and corner and quietly rocking back in forth. Another was running in the widest possible circle of the cramped room, screaming incoherently. Suddenly, another burst up into view, his flesh around his cheeck, forehead, neck, and chest clawed raw and bleeding as he screamed, "HELP! GET THEM OFF ME! I CAN FEEL THEM CRAWLING INSIDE ME! GET 'EM OFF!"

The man collapsed back as John put his hand to the glass and leaned forward, his vision blurring and senses dulling. He was nearly out as he felt a hand clutch his shoulder, a deep, haunting voice saying, "Ah, it really is you, Baba Yaga."

A sharp, piercing pain in John's neck made him cringe and throw his head back as he gnashed his teeth, the voice growing more ghastly as it spoke, "Well, only one of us can be the king of terror, John. Let's see who it really is."


	4. Fear Itself

The cold, moist ground was the first thing to greet John's senses, moss caressing his cheek and the dirt cradling him. A forest of headstones spanned all around John, the largest lying directly before him with a statue of the Virgin Mary drawing the baby Jesus close to her breast. John groaned in pain and grasped his neck, doing nothing to satiate the four punctures in his flesh throbbing deep into his nervous system. His other hand dug into the mossy earth, retracting his hand in shocked disgust to look at his sullied hand. It was then an echoing, sweet voice called out his name, "Joooohn."

The hitman froze, every muscle tense across his entire body from the siren's call. He took notice of the puffs of mist coming out of his mouth, the air around him freezing and numbing the lobes of his ears. "John."

The voice was not as angelic with its second call. It sounded worried, as if uncertain if he heard it, and was just noticeably deeper. This loosened John's muscles, allowing him to push himself up to his knees and rest his hands in his lap. John took notice of the tombstones all around him like a forest. Then he began to notice what sounded like whispers, multiple voices at once quietly talking over one another. He turned his head in all directions to find a source but it appeared they came from all around him. The voices grew louder, John unable to discern what they said despite how much he strained for how quiet and overlaying the voices were. Slowly, they grew to incoherent talking and finally screaming at John. He could only pick out bits of what was said in the group of screaming voices. The pain he caused them. The family member's killing themselves from the grief he caused. The families, lives, and children he ruined with his actions. All laying their cases and laying into John Wick. The assassin merely hung his head and listened, unable to rebut or respond to what he couldn't see or hardly understand. "Joooohn."

The voice again called out to him, sounding almost playful and familiar as he recalled her. John looked up and stared at the Mary statue, his gaze fixated on it and unable to be torn apart. The shouting had ceased, all was deathly silent once again. Suddenly, a hand bursting through the ground of one of the graves brought the screaming back even louder than before, John now able to make out every word they were saying to him. Now multiple hands and heads were poking out from their graves and tearing the rest of themselves free, clamoring after John. John tried to crawl back but had them grasp his shoulders, then his feet, arms, and finally his abdomen. They began to pull the struggling hitman down into the soft, cool dirt, suffocating John as he was drenched in darkness and earth.

John woke up and sat straight up with a gasp, panting for the air his lungs had been denied. The mossy, dark graveyard had vanished. John sit beneath the blue hue of florescent lights and tile ceiling, kneeling on a linoleum floor. Before him was a check-in desk, John clasping his hand on the granite lip to pull himself up. He propped himself up with all his strength on his hands, finding no one at the reception area. He turned to look over his shoulder and found no one in the waiting room. "Joooohn."

The voice cried out in dismay, the pain in the woman's voice was apparent. "Helen." John gruffed, waddling along on his still-awaking legs. John made his way through a pair of wooden swinging doors and found himself in a long, white hallway with a door at the far end. Between him and it lie a pile of decomposing, suited corpses. "Joooohn!" Helen called out, the agony in her voice echoing down the hall.

The reverberating calls of his wife forced John to cover his ringing ears, shutting his eyes, and gnashing his teeth as he fell to his knees. As the ringing stopped, John put his hands on his thighs and began to pant, his heart racing in anticipation. His attention from catching his breath was robbed by the sounds of the corpses picking themselves off the ground. Before him stood Viggo, blood stained down his shoulder and chest from where he was stabbed. On either side of him were Iosef, his forehead and back of his skull vented open from John's bullet, and a half dozen of his henchmen wounded in how John killed them. "Well, Jonathan," Viggo declared, "you can't just quite keep your hands clean of this life no matter how much you try, can you?"

"Viggo," John began, getting to his feet, "you've got blood on your best suit."

"I can only fucking imagine how that got there, John." Viggo seethed, baring his teeth in anger.

"Nah, all of this over some fucking dog, right, John?" Iosef taunted.

Viggo slapped Iosef upside the back of the head with a wet plop, his head flinging forward and drizzling brain matter and blood out of his entrance wound. "No, you stupid child. It's all because of the woman crying out to John right now," Viggo gestured behind him to the door with a wave of his hand, "Well, John, as a man of second chances, you think you'll be able to be there for her this time."

"I was for the first time." John hissed.

"If you say so, John. But there must be so much you want to say to her, so much you've had to marinate on all this time since she passed. What a lucky break, a chance to close that chapter of your life once and for all, John. Go, be with her and you can finally have that closure."

Viggo and his men stepped aside and gestured John along, only to be met with the hitman's glare. "Ah, he doesn't trust us," Viggo laughed, "Wise move, Johnathan."

The gang of corpses stormed at John with determined, hurried strides in a rhythmic power walk. Viggo brought his fist back and threw it at John, the hitman deflecting the blow with his forearm and shooting his elbow into Viggo's eye. Needing separation, John shot up under his arm and grasped him around the chest, turning and sweeping his legs from under him as he tossed him aside. Iosef locked John in a full nelson as he was preoccupied, taunting, "Where are you gonna go now, John?"

John responded by dropping to his knee, taking Iosef down with him before rolling over, forcing Iosef along for the ride and pinning him beneath him. John began throwing his elbow into Iosef's rib until he felt a sudden crack, the crime lord's son releasing him as him moaned in pain. Not satisfied, John propped himself up on one arm and threw a fist down into Iosef's manhood, instantly making him curl into the fetal position and writhe about. Before he could react, John was met with a boot to the back of the head from a bald, bearded man with a pair of bullet wounds in his skull, sending him roll across the floor as Viggo straightened his lapels and cuffs. Viggo took his turn by punting John in the ribs, sending him rolling back to a waiting henchman with bruises around his neck. He seized John by the hair and raised him to his feet, kneeing him in the crotch before crossing his cheek with a hook. John wobbled to his side, a goon with multiple torso wounds kicking him the stomach and sending him stumbling back to Viggo. The crime lord took John in an embrace around his waist before rearing back and slamming John onto the back of his head with a suplex. John rolled through onto his stomach and tried to fight through the daze of his head being slammed as he got to his hands and knees. His efforts were thwarted as Iosef lept onto his head with both feet, driving John's face into the ground and nearly crushing it under his feet. "You just never can make it easy, can you, John?" Iosef spat.

"Get him up, I'm not finished." Viggo demanded.

"Who said any of us were, Viggo?" Avi comforted, glass protruding from his face.

Iosef once more raised John off the ground in a full nelson, Viggo brandishing a pipe as he said, "You know, John, originally I put the blame for everything that happened on Iosef. He took your car, your dog's life, and did both of these things right after she passed. But, now that I've sat and thought, you did all of this John. Your wife left you a fucking puppy."

Viggo unleashed a baseball swing onto John's stomach, cracking several ribs and forcing him free of Iosef's grasp as he gasped in pain. "Your wife's gift to you is the entire reason you did all of this. You destroy my empire, kill my son, my men, and me? And for what? Because she bought you a fucking puppy?"

Viggo brought the pipe down over John's back, dropping him to his stomach before he rolled on his back and left his mouth agape, guttural gurgles of pain escaping his mouth. "You could have just accepted everything you care about will be taken away from you, just like I have. I knew my empire would fall, I knew I'd die, and I knew Iosef would die before me someday. But it had to be you, my right hand man, to do it? Because of a fucking car and a puppy."

Viggo pinned John's throat under his foot, the hitman writhing for any air he could get or leighway beneath his shoe, and pointed the bend of the pipe in his face, continuing, "Well, John, all of what you've done is going to be for nothing but ensuring your death. So don't fret, child, you'll see your beloved very soon in Hell."

"JOHN!" Helen screamed, her voice hoarse and ragged.

With that, Viggo rose the pipe up high and prepared to turn John's skull into pulp. John produced his knife from beneath the sheath hidden inside the site of his pants and, with a flick of the blade, drove it into Viggo's Achilles tendon. The crime lord gasped in shock, dropping his pipe before John grasped his other ankle, retching him off his feet and sending Viggo crashing onto the back of his head. John immediately took the pipe as his own and snapped the knee of the first henchman to reach him to the side. John reversed the grip on his blade and hammerfisted it up into the chin of the corpse, gurgling out, "Again with this shit?"

John shot up to his feet with a kip-up and turned to the corpses, knife in his right hand and pipe in the other. A pair of thugs charged at John, one having his jaw knocked out of the socket by a wicked swing of the pipe and the other being sent somersaulting to the ground with a backhand of the pipe to the temple. John met the next combatant by driving the knife into his forehead, the man still moving and attempting to throttle John. John responded by taking the pipe and slamming it into the back of the knife, driving the blade deeper and deeper into his skull until the man ceased moving. John kicked the man from his blade and ducked a wild haymaker of another thug, the man rolling over John's back and falling on his ass behind him. John turned and swung with all his might on the crook, the top of his head opening like a piñata and spraying the adjacent wall with gore. The pair of concussed and jaw-broken goons began to rise before John, the hitman burying his blade between the left collarbones of the former before pinning the slack-jawed other against the wall. John was interrupted by the last unharmed henchman tackling him to the ground, immediately crying to strike John blindly as he held his hand to his face. John reached out with his other hand in desperation for the pipe, his finger tips drawing it close enough to grasp it. Finally, John drew the pipe in and began bashing the man's forearm with it as he protected his face. John forced the man off of him and sat up, eyeing a terrified Iosef as he shouted, "You're next."

The beaten goon attempted to lock John in a rear naked choke, only for the hitman to grasp his wounded arm in a vice grip and force him to release him. Just as John got onto his feet, the thug grabbed the pipe and pulled himself up, locking up in a bitter tug of war. Finally, John responded by headbutting the man right between the eyes, flinging his head back and dazing him. John took the opportunity and kicked the man in ankles, knocking his feet from under him and sending him plummeting down. John pressed the pipe into his face and the landing jammed the pipe through the man's eye, his body squirming and wriggling in response. John ripped the pipe from the corpse's skull and turned to a wide-eyed and pleading Isoef, "John, let's be reasonable about this!"

He ignored Iosef, ripping his knife from the man struggling to free it as blood spurted from his now-uncorked aorta, the henchman losing consciousness immediately and passing out in a pool of his own blood. "If it wasn't for me, you'd never have gotten into the Tarasov family in the first place! You owe me everything, John, because no one believed in you except me when you were at our door!" Iosef shouted.

John retracted the blade and clipped it to his belt, taking the last living thug by his throat and propping him against the wall. John put the end of the pipe in his opened maw and repeatedly slammed his palm into the the curving end beside him. His body tensed with every slam John made, the satisfied hitman leaving the corpse to stand with the aid of the pipe rammed out the back of his skull. "Do you think killing me will stop anything, John?! Do you think killing me will make her come back or fill that void in your soul?" Iosef taunted as John strolled towards him, producing his knife once more.

John's hand shot out and seized Iosef by the chin, pulling him in as he hissed, "No, but it'll shut you up."

With that, John stabbed Iosef in the side of the neck, the shock radiating across his face faster than John could withdraw his blade and unleash a torrent of crimson. John unleashed another stab, noticing Iosef jump from the pain and shock of another wound. Incensed, John took Iosef by the hair and began to dig his knife deeper and deeper with each stab, ripping it out with more purpose and gore for more stabs. Finally, John hacked through the last strands of flesh Iosef's neck maintained with his skull and his body collapsed to the ground. Iosef's jaw slowly dropped as a steady stream of blood poured from it, the look of horror as present as when John first stabbed him. John let the head crack against the linoleum as he heard Viggo begin to chuckle. "Well, John, you did it. Give your self a round of applause." Viggo mocked, slow-clapping John as he lie on his stomach.

John began to approach Viggo as he continued, "You killed us all over again. And what did that accomplish? Oh, you stopped us from killing you? You get to extend your lowly, empty existence just a bit longer? Or is it you getting to see your precious wife once again."

John stopped at the corpse pinned to the wall, ripping the pipe from it and freeing it to collapse to the ground. "Well, I have bad news for you, John Wick. Listen. Do you hear that? Silence. Absolute deafening silence. You're too late, John, she's gone."

John merely looked vacantly down at Viggo, his emotionless visage making Viggo chuckle once more. "Be seeing you, John."

John returned the courtesy by raising the pipe and savagely beating Viggo over the head with the only sound being the echoing, thick cracks bouncing down the halls slowly growing wetter and softer. Finally, the pipe clanged against the floor and John's panting filled the hall. Viggo's head resembled a splattered blob of flesh, blood, bone, and hair unrecognizable from its original shape. John's breath left his lungs as he heard the same, angelic ring in his ears, "Joooohn."

Without a second thought, John turned on his heel and sprinted down the hall. He burst through the door and found himself in a wider room with the same floors, walls, and ceiling as the hall. At the opposite end of the room lie Helen in a bed, hooked up to numerous machines and bags. Her cheeks were depressed and face gaunt, but her waving, brunette hair was the only recognizeable feature of the flesh-clad skeleton before him. John methodically strolled to her side and pulled a chair up, taking her freezing hand in his as her eyes tracked her the whole way, laboring to breathe as she lived. "Helen..." John began.

Helen drew a deep, sudden breath, her abdomen arching out as she stared towards the lights, her wrists and shoulders contorting to support her position. She exhaled her final breath as her body came to rest on the mattress again, her eyes vacantly staring at the ceiling. John stared in disbelief at his wife's corpse, tears stinging his eyes before cascading down his cheeks. John slipped his arms under her shoulder blades and knees, taking her off the bed and cradling her close as he sobbed into her shoulder. "No...not again." he cried.

John wailed over his wife, the lights in the room flickering and buzzing incessantly. With every flicker, they revealed pieces of reality. The sanitary, white room was a dingy, dank concrete room filled with photos, straw, a chalkboard, and stalagmite-like pillars. Her bed surrounded by the machines and drips to sustain her was merely a dirty, stained cot. And in his arms lie a giggling Scarecrow, slowly working a his syringe-filled hand up to John's neck.

John felt her hand caress his face, the tears stopping and John in disbelief at what was happening. A second chance to say goodbye and all he wished he had said. "Helen! Helen, I'm so sorry." he began.

"No, John," she replied, her voice echoing and monotone, her hand dragging down to his neck, "I'm sorry I ever pretended to love you."

With that, Helen plunged her nails into his neck right over the hold wounds, John baring his teeth in pain as a familiar rush hit his blood vessels and heart. John threw Helen over the bed and onto the ground, falling out of his chair as he grasped his neck and scooted his back against the opposite wall. Helen's hand shot up over the bed, a buzz in the lights revealing Scarecrow's syringe hand. John looked on in terror as Helen crawled over the bed in a spider-like fashion, her limbs contorting over one another before plopping onto the ground before the bed. She crawled the rest of the way on her hands, her legs dragging behind her as she shouted, "Where were you, John? How could you be out killing again when you made me a promise!? A promise you'd leave it all behind for me!"

"Helen, you don't understand."

"Don't understand what? That you lied to me?! You're a pathetic excuse of a man, John. I knew I never loved you because you could never put me before yourself. And you never did, look where you are now, John! Fighting and killing all over again. And you couldn't even wait for my corpse to grow cold before you did it, I had to find out everything. Like you killing the Tarasovs, or killing them again, or going to Arkham!"

John's fear lowered slightly with the curiosity of what she just said, pondering aloud, "Arkham?"

"Well, John, look where it's landed you! Right here with me and I know all of your sins. Welcome home, John Wick, you're trapped in Hell with me for all eternity. And I'll make you suffer like you did to me." Helen declared, drawing her hand back.

John merely stared at her absent-mindedly, another buzz of the lights giving him a glimpse of a prone Scarecrow raising his syringed high overhead before snapping him back into his hallucination. "Let's get started, shall we?" Helen said.

She threw her hand at John as if to slap him, only for the hitman to catch her palm in his, immediately making her squirm in discomfort from his grip. "What," Scarecrow began, "That's impossible! There's enough fear toxins in you to put ten men into catatonia! What are you?"

"Baba Yaga." John replied, twisting Scarecrow's wrist and grasping the back of his head.

John slowly began to force Scarecrow's hand towards his face, the maniac grunting and struggling to keep his ever-encroaching hand away. "Scarecrow," John uttered, forcing the maniac to look John in the eyes, "Be seeing you, Jonathan Crane."

With that, John forced Scarecrow's hand forward and dug his ring and middle fingers through his eyes. Scarecrow shrieked in agony, writhing about on the floor and unable to withdraw his fingers from his eye sockets. John picked himself up from the ground, recovering his pistol from the cot and staring down at the defeated doctor. As Scarecrow rolled about, John rose his foot and stomped onto the back of Scarecrow's head, driving the syringes deeper into his skull and silencing the mad doctor. John took notice of the vent exit on the wall just above his head. John lept up and pulled himself into it, crawling out and thudding his way along as he did. He came to the fork in the paths and to his left was the elevator. To his right were all of the bodies of the thugs he had dispatched, none of them the Tarasovs nor their men but shirtless men with clown paint on their faces.

Take the path to his left, John found himself above a sizable drop to an elevator below. He prepped himself and lunged out for the cables, swinging around wildly from the momentum before carefully lowering himself, one arm-length at a time. John hopped over the elevator's edge and opened the door with a press of the button. Upon entering, he was immediately greeting by Joker's mocking tone, the clown cheering from over the tv, "Well, I'll be damned, if it isn't Johnny-boy! How's it going, pal? I see you took care of Croc but you appear to be down a man. Let me guess, you pushed him to Croc and ran for it, huh?"

"Let's just say he and Scarecrow won't be a problem to what I'm here for." John answered.

"Oh, really now? A two-for-one trip? Interesting," Joker laughed, John pressing the button for the entry floor, "So, John, I say you and I have formed a bit of a rapport, you know? Me throwing you to Szasz, Croc, and Scarecrow, though that last one was an accident. You killing them and all my guys so far. So, as a friend, let me ask you this. Why the hell are you in my asylum?"

John merely answered with a cold stare, Joker understanding as he said, "Oh, for me? You shouldn't have. Well, John, you're last useful trait keeping you alive was my curiosity at what on earth you were doing here. Now that I know that," Joker drew off, producing another detonator, "I don't need to concern myself with what you're doing. So, John, how's about you stay down there and think about what you've done. Here we go! Three...two...one..."

With that, Joker pressed the button with his thumb, John lowering his stance to brace for a blow. However, nothing happened and Joker laughed maniacally, mocking John, "Oh, man, you should have seen the look on your face. Ohhhh, man, priceless comedic gold. But come now, Johnathan, what fun is it to just put baby to bed and let him cry himself to sleep in the bowels of Arkham? No, I'm interested in having a brand new plaything all to myself. So, John, you're still only going where I want you to go and if you just so happen to survive wherever I send you or die, I benefit from either the lack of competition or killing my would-be assassin. Be seeing you, John."

With that the tv went to static as John rose from the depths of the building. His elevator shambled to a stop back at the entry of the Intensive Care Unit. The elevator swung back with a harsh thud that rocked John about on the inside. The doors began to dent in as something struck them, the doors themselves finally ripped back to reveal the hulking Bane responsible. He clasped his massive hand over John's chest and hurled him into the room separated by a row of bars, his side empty while the other teemed with cheering inmates. "Well, Mister Wick," Bane called out, "Shall we?"


End file.
